Carnival Souls

Last Ride

Owen had only been able to see Lira intermittently as she walked through the carnival and played, but he had heard all of it.

His eyes stung with unshed tears as the music wrapped around him and touched something raw at the center of him. Unbidden images of his brother and mom flooded his inner mind and his longing for them sharpened to something that was almost painful. The song seemed to go on for a long time while also ending too soon, so when the binding spell was broken, Owen wasn't ready. He lost his balance as his kelpie was freed and hit the ground hard, again, rolling several times before coming to a stop on his back. Bruises he had already collected throbbed with the second impact and he felt as though there was a metal band around his lungs.

Stunned and struggling to move, he watched wide-eyed and gasping as the fury careened overhead, heading for the ground and gaining momentum. He tracked its descent, neck spasming as he turned his head, and winced as the creature smashed into the ground in a heap of feathers. Something—Atlas he realized—was jettisoned from its back, disappearing behind the bird's crumpled form.

Every muscle screamed as Owen got to his feet and staggered to the fallen spirit. He stopped as a high keening sound met his ears. It was a sound of primal grief, a sound that words could not give shape to. He approached in a cautious circle to find Atlas on her knees, arms thrown around the fury's torso.

The bird women's head was twisted at an impossible angle, her red eyes staring sightlessly at Owen, forked tongue hanging limp from her broken jaw.

"She's gone," Atlas choked, burying her face in the rumpled, dusty feathers.

Owen wondered if the multiple falls had given him a concussion. If in fact, he was dead or dying in the grass somewhere and he was hallucinating all of this. He wanted to pinch himself, but everything else hurt so much he wasn't sure he would even feel it. It wouldn't hurt this much if he was already dead, right?

His attention was drawn by Lira who came up on his side. Exhaustion pulled at the corners of her mouth and eyes. In the glimpses he had gotten of her during the song, she had played with a strength he had never seen in her before, and she had almost seemed to shine as the song built and billowed around her. She was in total command, as though for the first time in her life she had known exactly what she was doing. But none of that was here now. She didn't look like someone who had just thrown off the shackles she had worn for nearly five years. If he didn't know any better, he would say that she was sad.

"Look," she said quietly.

He followed her gaze, which was directed beyond the husk of the harpy. Zabaria stood in the center of the carnival and at her feet lay Bebinn. The witch's auburn hair was tangled around her porcelain face, bruised eyelids closed against the destruction of her carnival, and a trickle of blood trailed from the corner of her mouth. She lay unmoving, unbreathing. She looked much younger in this second death and not nearly so frightening. Like a nightmare spoken aloud in the daylight.

Owen looked between the fury and the witch. "I don't understand...did Zabaria...?"

"The fury was the manifestation of Bebinn's soul," said Lira. "It must be why she was able to keep her appearance unchanged. I never made the connection until now."

Another wail from Atlas cut off the question at Owen's lips. His confusion mounted when Lira kneeled beside Atlas and placed a hand on the girl's heaving shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Atlas," she whispered.

"Don't touch me," Atlas snarled, pulling away. "This is your fault. You've destroyed everything. We were making a difference and you killed her." Lira did not flinch at the girl's outrage and took the brunt of it with a solemn face.